


Between the Night and Morrow

by Meddalarksen



Series: Fic Snippets [1]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Sort of pseudo fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:51:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9547940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meddalarksen/pseuds/Meddalarksen
Summary: Fae-kissed is fae-cursed, of that Alex is certain





	

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to Dance Me Into the Night.
> 
> Title from William Allingham's "The Fairies"

Fae-kissed. That’s what he’d been called. Fae-cursed was more like it. Everything he touched seemed to fall apart. You only had to look at the accident to know that. Alex sighed heavily, finishing off his pint and getting to his feet, setting the coin to pay for it down. He sidestepped someone who was substantially drunker than he was and made his way out of the pub. He ought to go home, home to an empty flat and an empty bed.

He wasn’t even sure he believed in the fair folk, but other people certainly did. Especially after they saw the mark: vibrantly red and coiled around his torso, starting at his right hip and wrapping once around to stop at the back of his right shoulder. It wasn’t a scar, there was no way he would have survived a wound like that and the skin was no different except for the color. There was no explanation for it except the fair folk’s touch.

The fire he sometimes felt under his skin seemed rooted to the mark as well. The fire that had slipped out when he wasn’t careful: came up that spiral and lashed out. And there was nothing, _nothing_ he wouldn’t give to reverse that particular incident. That was a thought Alex was careful not to have too loud or too often because if he was actually Fae-kissed it would be just his luck for them to show up and accept that bargain. And it wouldn’t be….nothing they could give would be what he actually wanted. It wouldn’t be _real_.

He had to rid himself of the guilt. Attending the funeral, staying well back from the grave and the primary mourners, had done nothing but worsen it. Drinking meant he dwelt on it. The church. He hadn’t set foot in one in more than ten years, too much of him “wrong” in their eyes but maybe, maybe a return to send up a prayer? Maybe that would…maybe that would help. Some form of absolution. Some _action_ to prove he cared what had happened, and what could happen after death.

Alex nodded once to himself as he reached his flat, resolving to do just that the following night. Even if it didn’t _fix_ anything, maybe it would allow him to sleep finally.


End file.
